Saturday, August 20, 2016
The Hostage
First, by the book. In a bombed-out
building, my treatment at their hands
crisp but humane.
Later, things rather loosened.
When the building ground at night
and sections fell down with roars
and choking dust, it was voted to
move.
By then, they trusted me, and gave
me a street address to report to.
I took the bus there. It was at the end
of the line and the driver parked and
walked with me to find it.
Another night before anyone showed up.
And two of the old ones never did.
Including the head of our cell. An election
held, very democratic.
Allegiance promised to our new head. Me.
So, required a new hostage.
We decided on a young Brit who seemed to
think that war was Elevenses.
I managed to get him some Earl Grey and
biscuits eventually.
He frequently toasted us, tea in styrofoam, with
“The Absurdity of Everything!”
Grew a fierce red beard.
Why do we all like each other so?
Promise to hold reunions starting in
ten years time.
Oxford, first.
Labels: election, Elevenses, group rules, hostage, tea, war
